


love like you

by unrem



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Body Worship, M/M, Rimming, and he eats ass, keith works at jewel-osco, lance is a student, they like going slow ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrem/pseuds/unrem
Summary: “You’re a horrible boyfriend,” Lance says.“What? Why?”“You-- you should have fucking jumped me the moment you got here, man.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> some things: 
> 
> 1\. keith bottoms in this. there's also anal sex without a condom, so bear that in mind if that makes you uncomfortable!
> 
> 2\. lance is a great boyfriend lmao how did keith manage to snag him :~) (jk)
> 
> 3\. yes, the title’s from that steven universe song because the ‘look at your face, i just adore you’ bit is just …. Quality.
> 
> 4\. there’s a simile in here that i know i’ve read before in a klance fic, the one regarding Bewitched so…. if anyone can tell me where it’s from that would be great. i tried finding it to leave a comment like “yo, this cute description inspired a fic about ass eating” soo ooo…. that would be much appreciated!!
> 
> 5\. my previous username was reminscees but i wanted to turn over a new leaf because of Reasons to here i am. if anyone is like “OMG THOSE SIMILARITIES THOUGH” that’s why lol
> 
>  
> 
> enjoy!

Keith shows up at his dorm at nine-ish, after finishing his shift at the Jewel-Osco’s he works at. He’s wearing his work uniform, and  _ god _ he shouldn’t look this good in an ugly shade of dark red.

“Hey,” Keith says.

Lance’s grin is a little shaky. Keith makes him nervous; he makes him hard; and he wakes up the quietest parts of himself.

“Hi,” Lance manages after a beat or so, “Yeah, hi. C’mon.”

Keith nods and steps inside; walks around stacked textbooks and minds Lance’s TI-84 Plus on the floor,  _ bless him _ . He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. It’s so utterly adorable and charming it makes Lance’s heart ache.

“You-- you want to change, or something?” Lance asks, scratching his elbow, “You can borrow a shirt and shit, if you want.”

Keith nods again. 

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah-- yeah, that’d be-- great. Thanks.”

Lance nods, too, and turns around to shuffle in his drawer. He pulls out a worn grey sweater-- his favourite, the fucking coziest thing he owns-- and tosses it to Keith, along with some black sweatpants. Lance is already dressed in his pyjamas, it’s only fair Keith should get the same treatment. Out of modesty, Lance turns around and stares at his desk, thumb digging into the wooden edge of it, as he hears clothing rustle and Keith change. 

It’s strange. They’ve seen each other naked, showered together and everything, but Lance feels like it’s  _ weird  _ if he watches Keith change; probably because he can count all the times they’ve been intimate on one hand, though if he’s got anything to do with it, that’ll change tonight. 

His next door neighbours are out clubbing. He’s locked the door. He’s got this  _ planned _ , man. He’s even lit some candles and turned on the fairy lights Allura gave him for his birthday, dimmed down the other lights so that there would be no harsh, blaring white glow, only a flicker;  _ romantic _ .

Keith coughs. He’d thrown his red polo and slacks on the floor-- where they rightfully belong, those  _ capitalist fuckers _ \-- and put on Lance’s sweatshirt. He crosses his arms, standing there and watching Lance. Something about seeing Keith in his clothes and his room made Lance’s hands tremble a little, since he looked like he fit right in. 

“Lookin’ good, babe,” Lance says. He steps closer and wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders, swaying him slightly. “Did you miss me?”

Keith’s lips stretch into a grin and he rolls his eyes. His fingers still find their way to rest on Lance’s wrists and hands, though.

“Nah,” he says.

Lance gasps dramatically and pulls Keith down on his bed. Keith giggles--  _ giggles, god bless America-- _ and wraps his arms around his shoulders, hooking his legs around Lance’s as Lance crawls over him.

“Not at all? Not even a  _ tiny _ , incy winsy bit?” Lance teases as he noses Keith’s jawline, down to his throat. He starts peppering light kisses, too, until Keith’s shoulders aren’t as stiff and he’s got his head comfortably resting on Lance’s pillow. He’d even fluffed the damn thing before Keith’d arrived. 

Keith hums in approval and rests his palm on the back of Lance’s head, playing with the thin hairs there with pale fingers. Lance feels warm all over and so overwhelmed with the sheer, raw affection and adoration he feels for Keith that he can’t help but rest his forehead against Keith’s collarbone and inhale a trembling breath to steady himself before he lifts his head and stares down at Keith. 

He’d expected this: he’d expected Keith to be so pretty all the oxygen in his lungs leaves him in a flurry, hence the moment of reflection and pause earlier. It’s  _ always  _ like this. Keith must be some sort of monster. He’s beautiful: his eyes are soft and his neck’s just a little red, and he’s got dark circles and a growing pimple on his chin, but  _ god _ he’s just absolutely  _ beautiful _ .

“You’re a horrible boyfriend,” Lance says.

“ _ What _ ?” Keith asks and-- bless him-- he looks so outrageously offended at the thought. “Why?”

“You-- you should have fucking jumped me the moment you got here, man,” Lance presses his forehead against Keith’s collar and whines, in desperation or annoyance: it’s all farce, though. He’s never really annoyed when Keith is around. He has that effect on him. _ Amazing _ ,  _ terrific _ ,  _ wonderful _ , Lance thinks as Keith snorts and tangles his fingers in Lance’s hair. 

Keith’s own messy, knotted black mop of hair is sprawled underneath him. He tilts his head to the side and looks up at Lance curiously, as though studying him. He’s half-naked and  _ pretty  _ hard underneath Lance, but all Lance can think is how  _ cute  _ Keith looks in that moment: it’s unfair.

Lance swallows thickly, and Keith’s still carding his fingers through Lance’s hair-- pushing it back, tucking it behind his ears-- while smiling, and  _ damn _ , Lance doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the sight of Keith grinning so utterly happily that his eyes crinkle and teeth show; slightly uneven, tinted permanently pale yellow. Someday, Lance thinks, he’ll get Keith invisi-line, or something, when they’ve both got well-paid jobs and a house and a dog and two cats and a white picket fence, with a garden. Keith would  _ love _ gardening, since he likes the outdoors.

Keith swipes his tongue across his lower lip and opens his mouth ever-so slightly, as if he’s preparing himself to say something. Lance feels butterflies in stomach. He was a fool to assume that they’d disappear after they’d started going steady. Keith would probably still make his heart thud ten, twenty,  _ thirty  _ years from now, but that’s awfully optimistic. He and Keith haven’t had that sort of talk yet, and judging by Keith’s attachment and trust issues-- and how long it took them to figure out this whole dating situation,  _ jesus christ _ \-- that’s something for another day. Lance would have to set an hour or two aside for that, and besides, Keith’s too--

“-- good for me,” a breath escapes Lance’s mouth.

“Huh?” Keith asks in a quiet laugh.

Lance blinks. 

“Uh,” he manages, “I-- uh-- it’s nothing, really. It’s nothing.”

Keith’s sceptical. Lance can tell because whenever he’s unsure of something, his nose twitches like Samantha does in  _ Bewitched _ . It takes Lance back to all the nights he’d spent lying awake in the middle of the night thinking about Samantha in  _ Bewitched _ , he’d had the biggest crush on her. 

“You sure?” Keith asks, “I mean, if you don’t-- we can just, I don’t know, watch something and hang out if you don’t--”

“No!” Lance says, “I-- I do, I really do, I was just-- I was just thinking about-- you. I was thinking about you and how-- you’re-- I… I lo-- like you. I really,  _ really  _ like you; a lot, probably than you like me-- like  _ a lot _ more, ‘cause you’re like,  _ w-a-a-a-y  _ too good for me-- and that-- that worries me, because I-- yeah.”

Keith’s eyes are wide and his face is firetruck red. He looks like he’s about to bolt or cry or punch Lance in the face, but Lance can’t manage to look away from Keith; he’s a car crash. He just  _ can’t _ . Keith’s fingers move from Lance’s hair to his shoulders, balling into Lance’s t-shirt. 

“You’re-- you-- you’re so fucking stupid,” Keith decides. He tugs on Lance’s shirt, pulling him down until their faces are inches apart. Lance can feel Keith’s hot breath fan over his face. Keith likes his lips again.

“I like you, too,” he says in a quiet voice, “Don’t-- don’t think I’m too good for you, just--  _ don’t _ , because I’m not. I’m  _ perfect  _ for you: that’s why we’re-- why we’re dating, right?”

Lance’s shoulders drop down. He doesn’t know what to say, how to reply to something like that. Keith’s not one for words-- Lance knows that much-- so when he  _ does _ talk about his feelings or something, it’s raw and so very  _ real _ that Lance’s chest hurts. For someone so bad with words, Keith always knows exactly what to say. 

“Okay,” Lance whispers, nodding, “Okay-- okay.”

Keith presses his lips together in a tight white line and nods, too. He presses his palm against the back of Lance’s neck. The warmth of his fingers make Lance’s entire body tingle. He presses a hand against Keith’s waist, above his hipbone, and draws a nonsense pattern with his thumb there. Keith shivers a little, leans into the touch and towards Lance, and then, they’re kissing;  _ finally _ . 

Keith’s mouth isn’t soft. It never is. His lips are chapped and rough and a little too wet from all that licking a while ago, but Lance kisses him anyway. He’d kiss him when he’s eighty and a gross, angry old man. The way Keith kisses is pretty similar to how he approaches every aspect of life; impatient, certain and a little angrily, fuelled with passion. It shouldn’t turn Lance on that his lips are sort of numb from Keith’s force, but  _ f-u-u-u-c-k, of course _ it does, because what  _ doesn’t _ Keith do that sort of turns Lance on, just a little bit?

Lance feels like he’s sinking down into Keith, seeping into the marrow of his bones. It’s then that Lance realises how long it’d been since they’d kissed like this-- a couple of days at most-- but it’s always,  _ always, always _ \---- it’s  _ always _ Keith, and the hunger Lance feels never quite goes away. Even when he’s sitting in class and Keith’s got a shift at work and Lance knows he’ll see him again in a couple of hours when they meet at Keith’s for take-out and  _ Finding Nemo _ , Lance gets this urge to stop by Keith’s Jewel-Osco and see him  _ right now _ . It’s ridiculous. He’s like some jealous bitch;  _ literally _ , a jealous dog, or something.

Lance’s thought loses clarity the moment Keith parts his mouth and licks along Lance’s lips, biting into them and coaxing them open;  _ open sesame, y-e-e-e-s sir! _

The warmth of Keith’s mouth is familiar, and so is the delicious, gorgeous moan Keith lets slip, as if he’d been dying of thirst in the middle of the desert and Lance is an oasis. It vibrates against Lance’s own mouth, and he can’t help but wrap his arms around this beautiful,  _ beautiful  _ boy. It’s different every time they does this, but it’s also the same: every damn time Lance’s chest feels so full it  _ hurts _ . There’s something pressing against his ribcage, heavy and insistent. 

_ I’m an idiot _ , Lance thinks because he can’t manage to take off his shirt without detaching himself from Keith’s lips: they’re  _ that  _ addicting, it’s ridiculous. 

_ I’m an idiot _ , Lance thinks when he tangles their legs together but Keith’s pulling away,  _ oh no _ .

Keith’s smiling at him. His lips are fuller than before and redder, too; bright fucking red,  _ holy shit _ . His pupils are blown, too, and he’s just gorgeous. It’s a crime. In reality, it’s not like Keith is the  _ single _ most attractive person ever-- he pops his pimples, he’s got scars because  _ guess what _ he picks at his scabs, his hair’s a greasy mess, and his feet are big-- but his eyes look so  _ good  _ against the blue of Lance’s bedsheets, and that should count for something. 

_ I’m an idiot _ , Lance thinks,  _ I’m an idiot-- I’m such a fucking idiot--  _

“Fuck,” he says, “Holy shit--  _ fuck--  _ I-- can we, uh, I don’t know-- suck each other of or give each other hand-jobs or something; anything? Not, like, crazy animal sex, or anything, but, uh, I’m--” he laughs breathlessly, “I’m kinda dying here, man. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Keith laughs again. It’s harmonious and sounds like birds. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says, adjusting his body underneath Lance so that he’s lying more comfortably on top of the mattress, “We can do whatever. I don’t care. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, but, uh-- the chances of that happening are pretty slim,” he adds in a shy tone as Lance leans down closer, hips grazing each other as Keith grinds against Lance’s thigh slowly, carefully.

Lance grins, cups his face, and kisses Keith again; he  _ really  _ can’t get enough of that, huh? The way Keith keens and groans, and how nails dig into Lance’s shoulder, then his hips, is  _ addicting _ . Lance swears he feels like he’s dying. 

“Pull me out,” Lance says, “ _ Fuck _ , baby, please-- touch me-- I--”

Keith--  _ bless him, really _ \-- slips his fingers underneath the waistband Lance’s sweats and fills his palm with Lance’s cock: he’d been free-balling, yeah. It’s a lazy  _ and  _ laundry day. Keith squeezes his palm and drags his fingers up, gentle and slow. Lance shiver and groans. 

“Shit,” he tells the space between Keith’s lips, “Feels so good, baby.  _ God _ , I could come just from this. Hang on, get naked; wanna see you naked, too, okay? That okay, baby?”

Keith licks his lower lip-- again _ , god damn it _ , it’s like Keith’s  _ trying _ to kill him, or something-- and nods. 

“Yeah,” he says, “Fuck, yeah.” 

Lance grins and lifts himself on his palms, sitting in Keith’s lap, thighs bracketing Keith’s own. He drags his fingers down Keith’s chest, grazing over smooth and warm muscles. Lance feels warm all over, too, so he tugs off his shirt and throws it to the ground. 

“I dunno, though,” Lance wonders, “I mean-- you look, like,  _ really _ good in my clothes, babe.”

Keith squirms under his gaze. 

“Whatever,” he replies quietly, “You-- uh-- can leave the shirt on, if you want to. I don’t care.”

Lance nearly hops up and down in happiness at his words. 

“Great,” he says, “Thanks, man.”

“Uh,” Keith says. He’s squinting his eyes in confusion. “You’re-- you’re welcome?”

Lance’s eyes are wide:  _ jesus _ , what kind of a loser says  _ thank you  _ to their their  _ boyfriend (!) _ indulging them in some pretty lame, virginal mini-kinks? Lance feels like he could combust on the spot. Keith squirms underneath him again, adjusting the pillow under his head and staring-- it looks like a glare, though-- at some point to the left of them. 

“Yeah, yeah-- yeah,  _ right _ ,” Lance exhales in a quick breath. He sits up and tugs his pants off, then turns around and tugs Keith’s off, too, along with his boxers--  _ Star Wars _ patterned,  _ holy shit,  _ is this guy even _ real _ ?-- until he’s naked and sitting down in the most beautiful boy in the universe’s lap. 

Keith naked is a  _ sight _ , the fucking  _ holy grail _ of bodies Lance has ever seen or imagined. He’s every single one of Lance’s wet dreams. He’s got thick thighs, a round ass, and strong arms, through not  _ too  _ strong; not inconveniently so, just enough that-- for lack of a better term-- Lance feels  _ safe  _ and warm and protected in Keith’s arms, and if that ain’t the  _ gayest _ thing Lance has ever thought.

Keith swallows thickly. Lance can  _ see _ it, so he presses his lips against the hollow of Keith’s throat, then his collarbone, until he reaches the hem of Lance’s sweater;  _ fuck _ . Keith’s breath hitches with every nip and suck and kiss of Lance’s lips, and he moans out of his open mouth in a rasped breath as Lance bites against his hipbone, staining pale, perfect skin pink. He does the same to the inside of Keith’s thighs, too, until he finds himself face-to-face with Keith’s hard-on. 

It stands before him, hanging slightly to the left and uncut-- that  _ fucker _ \-- with precome oozing out of the tip. They’d hardly even done anything too, but Lance would be lying if he wasn’t just as hard. 

“I’m going to suck you off for a bit,” Lance announces before wrapping his lips around the tip. It  _ should _ be gross to have someone’s dick in his mouth without a condom on-- that’s where pee comes out-- but Lance  _ hates _ the taste of lube and, somehow, surprisingly, because it’s  _ Keith  _ that changes  _ everything _ . 

“Fuck,” Keith groans, “Jesus-- you’re so good Lance, you look amazing--  _ ah _ \-- you’re amazing--”

_ Well _ ; maybe it’s not  _ that  _ surprising. Lance moans around Keith’s cock at the praise; tongues at the head, sucks around it, the way he  _ knows  _ Keith likes it, and  _ boom, baby _ , Keith’s thighs are strong and tense underneath Lance’s fingers. 

“Feels so good,” Keith groans. He tosses his head back and arches his back, and Lance doesn’t doubt that it  _ does  _ feel good: if there’s one thing he’d learnt during senior year of high school, it’s how to suck dick. Lance’s fingers travel from his thighs to underneath Keith’s sweater, skin hot underneath his fingertips. 

“ _ Lance--  _ want you-- want you, too,” Keith says. His voice is rough and needy, and  _ well _ , Lance has never been one to deny Keith’s wishes. 

With a pop, Lance pulls his lips off and sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Keith’s fingers wrap around his wrist, though, to stop his movement, and Lance raises his eyes to look at Keith. Keith had been watching him: that turns him on  _ way  _ more than Lance thought. 

Keith’s chest is heaving underneath the grey fabric of Lance’s sweater. Keith’s fingers brush against Lance’s lower lip, smearing spit and precome. Lance opens his mouth at the touch until Keith’s thumb is in Lance’s mouth. Lance sucks at it and swirls his tongue around it, flutters his eyelashes all pretty. Keith’s breath hitches at the sight. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Lance;  _ holy shit _ .

After a beat, Lance wraps his fingers around Keith’s wrist and pulls his fingers out of his mouth: takes a moment to relish the view of Keith beneath him, panting and flushed and wanting. Keith’s got marks from scars and old wounds, and  _ fuck _ , his old piercings; the one’s he got when he was a teenager. Lance would give anything to see Keith’s emo and/or punk side again, since he’d look  _ so _ hot and it would feel  _ so good _ to have his lips and dick grazed by a tongue ring or septum piercing.

He’s gorgeous in the dim light of Lance’s fairy lights, like he’s some offering on the  _ altar de Lance _ , whispering  _ I’m yours, I’m yours _ in a filthy, hot whisper into his ear. He’s cute in Lance’s sweater but entirely drop-dead  _ sexy _ , too; cock hard and leaking beside Lance’s. Overall, he’s really,  _ really  _ beautiful, and it doesn’t matter what Keith said, he’s way,  _ way _ too good for Lance.

Briefly, he wonders what it would be like to meet Keith’s parents, if it would’ve been weird to greet them with a  _ hey, nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Kogane, I’m a big fan of your work!  _ as if they were ever married and weren’t dead and buried in San Diego and Incheon.  

“What do you want to do?” Lance asks Keith instead. He rolls his hips against Keith’s for good measure, too. Lance can’t imagine all the things he could do to him. The sky’s the limit: asking is safer.

Keith shrugs, all casual.

“I don’t really care,” Keith reiterates, “I told you, you can do whatever.”

“Great!” he says, “Then I’ll eat you out, okay?”

Keith parts his lips. He’s  _ even _ redder than before, and it’s entirely adorable.

“You-- you don’t have to do that,” Keith hushes, “I-- it’s fine, I’ll just suck you off, or something--”

“Nah,” Lance says, “I mean, unless you don’t want me to, I’m down with eating ass, and then we can do something else, or whatever.”

Keith’s nose scrunches.

“Don’t-- don’t say it like that…” Keith mumbles, “It sounds gross.”

Lance shrugs.

“I mean, it’s  _ your _ ass. It’s special,” he tells him with a shy grin. Keith smiles back, a little, which is a solid win in Lance’s head.

“Fine,” Keith says, “Do your worst.”

Lance kisses his cheek and temple sloppily, then the tip of his ski-slope nose. Keith giggles. Lance travels down his body until he’s kneeling before his crotch. He pries Keith’s thighs-- strong, so  _ strong _ \-- apart and settles between them, grinning and leaving more marks on the inside of his thighs; constellations of pink and red and purple, since some of them are days old and some of them are fresh. 

Keith moans, low in his throat and raspy, like he’s drowning and Lance is the ocean. It’s muffled, though: Keith’s got his mouth covered by pale, pretty fingers. When Lance looks up through his lashes and kisses just shy of Keith’s hole, Keith meets his gaze and keens, almost  _ mewls _ like a goddamn  _ cat _ . If that makes Lance a furry, he’s long accepted his fate. 

Lance parts his lips and licks over the soft skin, trailing his mouth closer until he’s nosing just underneath Keith’s balls. It  _ should _ be disgusting, but it  _ isn’t _ : the way Keith’s flushed red and how his breaths are heaving and rough in his throat is anything  _ but _ . 

“Lance,” Keith says in a quiet voice, “ _ Lance _ .”

_ S-h-i-i-i-t _ : enough teasing, Lance thinks. Keith’s been good to him,  _ so good _ , and when he tells Keith that, Keith throws his head back and arches his back, moans beautifully. 

Lance’s tongue is warm against Keith’s backside, and he trails it all over until he slips his tongue inside him. He digs his fingers into Keith’s ass-- round and perfect,  _ god _ ,  _ how many squats does this boy do? _ \-- as Keith shudders and his hips lift off the mattress a little. He writhes and groans, runs his fingers through Lance’s hair, scratching his scalp and pulling him closer to him. Thighs clamp around Lance’s head, and Lance is sure that the sensation of his soft, conditioned hair tickling the inside of his thighs must feel amazing. 

“Fuck,” Keith sobs, “‘S good, you’re so  _ good--- _ ”

He lives for this; the attention, the look in Keith’s eyes, how Keith’s still got his fingers in his mouth because he’d be too loud, otherwise. That’s bullshit, Lance thinks. He wants to hear every single noise he draws from the back of Keith’s throat, noises no one else has ever been able to hear, like this. 

“Hey,” Lance says, lifting his mouth just enough so that Keith can feel the tickle of his breath over his entrance. His voice is lower than expected. Reaching up, he puts his hand over Keith’s; the one that’s clamped over his mouth, with some fingers slipped between pretty, red lips. “I-- wanna hear you,” he clarifies with a smile he hopes is charming and not as nervous as he feels. 

Keith looks at him, blinks with glossy eyes, and complies; he lets Lance’s fingers tangle with his and slowly pull his hand down until it’s resting on the mattress just to the side of his hips. They’re  _ holding hands _ whilst Lance  _ eats him out _ , Lance realises; it’s bizarre. He doesn’t know if other people do this and frankly, it feels so  _ nice _ he couldn’t care less; the way Keith’s thumb caresses over his knuckles is  _ nice _ .

Then he gets back to business; Lance’s lips-- full and unashamedly inherited from creole side of his family-- pucker and kiss, his tongue slips in and pulls Keith apart at the seams.  

In the dim lights of Lance’s dorm, Keith could never be anything but absolutely, breath-takingly gorgeous. Keith’s toes curl and his abdomen clenches-- those abs are going to  _ kill him _ , Lance thinks-- as he groans. 

“Lance,” Keith sighs, “ _ Shit _ \-- fuck-- I--”

Lance slips a finger beside his tongue once he’d deemed Keith was relaxed and slick enough-- Keith had been so,  _ so good  _ after all-- and twists it, hooks it. Keith throws his head back and tugs at Lance’s hair, breath coming short and hot. He’s sweating, too, and flushed from head to toe.

“Fuck--” Keith rasps, “ _ Lance _ ,” he moans, and  _ well _ , when Keith looks and sounds that good, Lance can’t help but tear the hand linked with Keith’s away and wrap it around Keith’s leaking cock. It’s searing to the touch, and all Lance has to do is thumb at the head before Keith’s trembling. It’s a shame to lose the comforting feeling of their fingers laced together, but the sounds Keith makes when he comes all over Lance’s hand is reward enough. 

As Keith’s eyes flutter open again, Lance pulls that one,  _ magical  _ finger out and with a final kiss to his hole, moves his mouth, too; drags it over his balls, up his cock until he’s sucking at the head again. 

“Shit,” Keith manages. He’s shaking, but he’s not telling Lance to stop, so Lance’ll keep going until those damn thighs crush him to death. They’re wrapped around Lance’s neck-- so tight Lance wonders if he could choke him with them, that’d be  _ hot _ \-- as Lance sucks and tongues at the slit, just like he’d done earlier. The noises Keith makes as Lance milks him dry, swallows every last drop of come, sound like sobs; he’s breaking, perfectly so. 

After a while, Lance pulls off with a pop and crawls up the expanse of Keith’s body. He’s so pliant underneath him, it’s amazing. Keith’s eyes are closed and it looks like he’s trying to control his shallow, unsteady breathing. Lance lets his fingers trace a line from Keith’s temple down to his jaw. He’s pretty sure there’s a dopey smile on his face but somehow, he couldn’t care less. 

“You okay?” Lance asks: that smile is  _ audible _ , he realises.

Slowly, Keith’s eyes flutter open and  _ fuck _ , Lance’ll never get over how gorgeous he is and how he’s  _ actually his _ . It’s a miracle.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “Yeah, I’m good; never better.” Keith is smiling, too, as he rolls on his side and tucks his hands underneath his head. Lance lies next to him: the sight of Keith this happy makes him a little light-headed.

Lance bites back a grin and looks at him as though Keith’s everything, like he’s got stars and galaxies in his eyes, and in the dim light of his dorm, maybe he  _ does _ .

“You should wash out your mouth,” Keith says. 

“Yeah,” Lance sighs dramatically, “But-- it’s so nice and warm here.” He wraps his arms around Keith’s middle and tugs him towards him until his body’s pressed against his. Keith laughs and settles his hands on Lance’s arms. Lance hides his grin and lovestruck gaze in the crook of Keith’s neck, kissing it until Keith sighs and shifts until he’s got his thighs bracketing Lance’s hips again.

“Mouthwash,” he tells Lance. Lance presses his palms against Keith’s ass and hips, tugging him down until they’re down-right  _ grinding _ again: after all, Lance is still rock-hard. Keith’s laughing again, but he’s not having any of it. He reaches down to Lance’s bedside and opens a drawer, pulling out lube, condoms--  _ bingo! _ \-- and mouthwash. 

He waves the bottle in front of Lance, eyes crinkled at the corners. 

“After this,” he says, “ _ This _ .” He gestures to the condoms and lube. 

Lance doesn’t think he’s ever taken a mouthful of mint, extra white listerine, flushed it around, and spat it out into an empty bottle of gatorade that fast. He watches Keith laugh and  _ laugh  _ as he does it, too, which is a bonus: the way Keith’s chest and shoulders move is the best thing he’s seen all week. 

“Done,” Lance tells him after twisting the cap on the bottle, throwing it on the floor, and wrapping his arms tightly around Keith’s middle, tugging him as close as possible and kissing him. Keith’s fingers cup Lance’s jaw, brush against the underside of it, as Lance bites his lower lip and presses his tongue against his. Their noses brush and Lance briefly thinks that he could do this forever: kissing Keith. 

Lance has one palm kneading Keith’s ass, pulling him closer to his aching,  _ painfully  _ hard cock. The other’s pressed underneath Lance’s sweater on the small of Keith’s back, fingers drawing nonsense patterns. He’s happy to be pampered and let Keith take the initiative for this round, and Keith takes the reins like a champ. Lance simply sits against his headboard, pillow propped behind his spine, all comfy. 

“I want to ride you,” Keith whispers against Lance’s open mouth when they part, “Yeah? That okay?”

Lance nods. “Yeah,” he says, fingers drumming against Keith’s hipbone, “Shit,  _ fuck yeah _ , baby.”

Keith lets his lips stretch into a shy smile. He turns around, reaches of the bottle of lube hurled on Lance’s bedsheets before, and uncaps it. He pauses, biting his lip and thinking for a moment before grabbing Lance’s wrist and hovering the bottle above his fingers.

“Please?” Keith asks, batting his pretty eyes, looking at him underneath full lashes, and Lance? Lance is so  _ very  _ bad at denying Keith  _ anything _ , especially the chance to finger his sated, happy, adorable, gorgeous,  _ sexy  _ boyfriend when he’s sitting in his lap, wearing his  _ sweatshirt _ and a lopsided grin. 

“Fuck,” Lance manages. He presses a sloppy kiss against Keith’s cheek. “Yeah, yeah-- shit, yeah, ‘course, dude.”

Keith exhales a laugh at that whilst drizzling some lube over Lance’s fingers whilst arching his back, grinding against Lance’s cock. Lance throws his head back and swears. 

“Shit,” he rasps, “Are you trying to kill me?”

Keith noses against the crook of Lance’s neck: he’s adorable, Lance thinks, and  _ oh, how he’d missed this _ . 

“Maybe,” Keith teases. Lance snorts. He presses a kiss to Keith’s hair. It smells like coconuts, he must’ve stolen Lance’s shampoo again. 

Lance doesn’t have the resolve to tease, anymore, so he simply pushes a finger inside. Keith’s fingers dig into skin of Lance’s shoulder, steadying himself. He must be sensitive, so Lance slips another finger into him; just like that. Keith moans, right into his ear. Right then and there, he wishes he could see Keith’s face, and that he wasn’t hiding it in the crook of his neck, so he settles for kissing along Keith’s neck and collar, down to his shoulder. Shoulders aren’t sexy-- that’s just a fact-- but Lance leaves a hickey there anyway as he thrusts his fingers and hooks them, reaching deeper until he presses his fingertips against Keith’s prostate. 

Keith trembles in his arms, exhales something like a sob of Lance’s name. Suddenly, everything’s far more tender than Lance had expected. There’s something about seeing strong, angry, Keith all gentle in his arms; pliant, sated, almost  _ lazy _ . It’s almost enough for-- for-----

“I-- I really, really, like you,” Lance says in a quiet voice; so quiet that, if Keith weren’t this close, he probably wouldn’t have heard it, “I like you  _ so much _ , Keith.”

Keith sniffles. His face is still hidden.

“I-- me too-- I-- I like you, too,” Lance hears. 

It’s silent, then, other than their heaving breaths. Lance knocks his head back and looks up at the ceiling. Keith shifts, just a little, and tickles Lance’s skin with his eyelashes. He presses tiny kisses against Lance’s throat until Lance is groaning, thrusting and hooking his fingers again, and it’s just like it was before, though: it’s softer, now, slower. 

They’ve never done it like this, Lance realises as he exhales a low breath, lets his eyes flutter shut, presses a third finger inside and makes Keith roll his hips  _ just _ right. 

He’s deep inside of Keith, now-- it should be enough-- and he’d made Keith come before, tonight-- that should be enough-- but, somehow, it’s  _ not _ . He could do this for hours, days,  _ weeks _ and never tire of that boy in his arms. He wonders what Keith would think of a sex day: maybe not now, but next year, when he’s got his own place, maybe-- maybe  _ with Keith _ , moving in together--

“Lance,” Keith sighs, “Lance-- I-- stop, that’s enough.”

Lance swallows thickly and snaps out of his daydream: he needs to be careful. Keith’s got this habit of forcing his deepest thoughts out of his throat and if he’d ask him to move in with him while he’s painfully hard and Keith’s wanting, too, Keith’s probably slap him or cry, or something. 

“Okay,” Lance says instead in a rough voice; sandpaper, “Okay, how do you-- d’you still want to ride me, or…?” 

Keith lifts his head, finally, and studies Lance. His fingers trace Lance’s jaw again, caress his cheeks. Lance smiles and closes his eyes;  _ this is enough _ , he tells himself,  _ this should be enough, don’t ask for more than he can give.  _

“I-- I changed my mind,” Keith says, “I can’t-- I need-- I want to… want to feel you--  _ shit _ ,” Lance grinds up against his entrance, teasing, “-- feel you all over. Flip me over,” he tells Lance’s lower lips. Lance’s eyes flutter open, again, half-lidded. “Want it from the back; slow and deep.”

“Fuck,” Lance manages, “Yeah-- yeah, baby, I’ll give you what you need; give it to you good,  _ fuck-- _ ”

He kisses Keith and feels his heart press against his chest. He feels like he could burst. He’s not even bottoming tonight and he feels so  _ full _ ; of affection, adoration, admiration, and something that could be love. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train. He’d almost let it slip out before, but it wasn’t as  _ real _ as it is now; it was more like a  _ love u <3 _ over text when Keith tells him he’s bringing rotisserie chicken from work and less like a  _ I’m in love with you and I want to move in together _ . 

All Lance can do is kiss Keith harder, push at his shoulders until he’s lying underneath him. Their chests press together; one layer of fabric between them. 

“Shit,” Lance hisses, and then he’s kissing Keith again. He can’t stop-- won’t stop-- and Keith’s simply threading his fingers through Lance’s hair, tugging at it incessantly until Lance is perfectly aligned. Blindly, Lance pats across his bed sheets to find a condom packet, and then Keith’s pulling away with a gentle groan.

“You-- you don’t need one,” he huffs. He’s averted his gaze and flushed: he’s embarrassed. “I-- you don’t need one, tonight. I want to  _ feel  _ you.”

Truthfully, Lance has no idea what Keith is talking about, with all that  _ feeling you _ bullshit, but Lance gets it. He wants to feel Keith, too: he wants Keith to seep into the marrow of his bones, to leave marks that stay for days, and to wake up next to him. He wants to know that this is permanent; something to last, a legacy of some kind.

“Okay,” Lance says, “Okay, yeah; sure. Turn over.”

Keith nods and complies as Lance lifts his hips and hovers over him. The sight of Keith lying so leisurely, lazily-- he’s got his arms wrapped around Lance’s pillow,  _ oh shit _ \-- in Lance’s room, in Lance’s  _ bed _ makes Lance’s throat close up  _ real  _ fast. He runs his palms down Keith’s shoulder blades, trails his finger down the knobs of his spine, then leans down to let his chest press Keith’s back. Keith’s breath hitches as Lance’s knees push his knees apart.

“You’re gorgeous,” Lance rasps. It sounds like-- and feels like, too-- he could cry. “You’re so gorgeous, Keith.”

Lance goes slow; listens to every minuscule moan and groan that escapes Keith’s throat as he pushes inside of him. He rests his forehead against Keith’s neck, grips his hips until Keith’s taken him completely. He’s so tight and  _ hot _ Lance’s head spins and his fingers tingle. He moans, nearly collapses over Keith’s body. 

“Shit, move--  _ move _ ,” he whines. 

Lance complies. He rolls his hips, goes slow and deep, and Keith? Keith blossoms like a flower. He mewls and sighs, lets praise flow out of that pretty, round mouth of his like a waterfall. 

“You feel so good,” Lance groans, “ _ So _ good for me, baby--  _ fuck _ \--”

Keith trembles underneath Lance’s body as Lance’s breath fans over his warm body. His skin tastes like salt, and it’s all so  _ hot _ ; the way Keith’s sweater is bunched up high, how he’s breathing heavy and making these  _ noises _ .

“Yeah?” Keith moans; straight of out a porno, all flirtatious and slow, easy sex. 

He’ll never get used to it, Lance swears. He’ll never get used to the feeling of being with Keith, for as long as he lives. 

“I miss you,” Lance breathes in a chant against his shoulder, mouth open and trailing all over the sweaty, warm skin, “I miss you all the time--  _ fuck _ \-- ‘s crazy,” he slurs. 

Keith moans again, obscene and baritone. It’s so goddamn  _ sexy  _ it’s a miracle that Lance doesn’t come at the spot. Keith’s rolling his hips, now too, rubbing himself against the bedsheets in time with Lance’s slow, deep thrusts, which means he’s making these tiny, breathy  _ ha-ha-ah _ noises and digs his forehead into the pillow. He digs his fingers into it until his knuckles are white--  _ fuck, yeah _ , that’s the  _ Lance effect _ \-- and mewls, grinds his forehead into it and tenses his jaw. He tenses his legs and ass, too, clamping around Lance and--

“Shit, you’re sucking me in,” Lance moans. He tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair and pushes it back, tugs at it the way he knows Keith likes it. Keith moans, too; loud and  _ erotic _ . “ _ Fuck--  _  I don’t think--  _ baby _ , this is going to be over real fast--” Lance rambles. 

“I don’t care,” Keith says. He swallows thickly. “Touch me and I swear I’ll come.”

Lance groans. His palms travel up and down the sides of Keith’s body, knead his ass again: he even slaps it, once, and Keith likes that  _ a lot _ . 

“Fuck,” Lance murmurs, voice low and hot in Keith’s ear. He kisses down Keith’s shoulder as he thrusts deep, then rolls his hips: he’s not even pulling out, anymore, Keith’s clamped tightly around him. 

Keith lifts his head and looks at Lance. His eyes reflect the glare of the fairy lights; bright and wonderful. He’s beautiful. His cheeks are flushed pink, his lips are red and full, he’s got hickeys on his neck and he’s slicked in sweat.

“You fuck me so good, Lance,” Keith slurs, “Always treat me right-- always--”

Lance comes then and there. He grits his teeth, groans against Keith’s shoulder, and shoots his load into Keith. Keith seems to like that, too--  _ betta keep that in mind _ \-- since he comes,  _ again _ , with a shout muffled by Lance’s pillow. He trembles underneath Lance’s body-- Lance full on collapsed on top of him-- and writhes, whines for a moment until they’re both trying to let their breaths become normal again. 

Keith shifts. 

“Shit,” Lance says. He would’ve  _ totally  _ crushed Keith, if Keith hadn’t been so strong. “Sorry.”

Keith grunts. Lance flops beside him; spine on the mattress, smile on his face.

“‘S fine,” he says. He’s still got his face down in Lance’s pillow. He groans, then supports himself on his palm as he rolls on his side. His hair’s a mess and he’s sort of frowning-- more like  _ pouting--  _ at Lance, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

“You should’ve put a towel down,” Keith says. His voice is rough. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve got come on your sweater.”

Lance shrugs.

“Worth it,” he tells Keith with a grin. Keith snorts, but he lets Lance wrap his arms around his body and pull him closer until he’s got his forehead pressed against Lance’s chest and fingers pressed against the middle of his back. 

Lance sighs contently. Upstairs, someone scraps a chair against the floor. 

“I would’ve--” Keith begins. He breaks off with a cough. “I’d have come sooner,” he continues in a quiet voice, “I mean-- if you’d told me that you… miss me.”

Lance’s arms tighten around Keith, pulling him an impossible fraction of an inch closer. He presses his cheek against Keith’s head, that unruly mop of coconut-scented hair. 

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he mutters.

Keith hums. “I heard,” he says, all gentle. His fingers draw a pattern against Lance’s back; a heart. 

Lance closes his eyes, kisses the top of Keith’s head and laces their legs together. He can feel Keith’s breath fan over his chest and Keith’s fingers draw against his back some more.

“You ain’t slick,” he says, “I can tell that’s a heart;  _ and _ our names.”

Keith freezes.

“Oh,” he chokes out.

Lance sighs. “‘S cute,” he says: he’s  _ swooning _ . He’s falling harder and faster for Keith with every second that passes, it’s ridiculous. 

After a moment, Keith continues; paints out some more tiny hearts. Lance is so happy his chest could  _ burst _ . He breaths out a little sigh. 

“I’m serious, though,” Keith tells him, “If you-- if you miss me, you could-- I don’t...” he trails off.

“Yeah,” Lance says, “I know.”

“Good.”

Keith  _ does _ sound serious, as if the notion of Lance being too shy to be with Keith when he misses him offends him. 

“‘Sides,” Lance says, “You’re here now.”

“Yup,” Keith hums, “I’m here; 'm not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> [ the structure of this was inspired by some aph fics i used to read so much i literally memorised my favourite parts. hmu if you’re the author and it makes you uncomfortable to find a metaphor you once used or something. i really, really tried to avoid shit like that but [shrugs] you know how it is. i just... i love the tone of those works so :) ]


End file.
